


i (dis)like you

by izayas



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, Falling In Love, Introspection, M/M, Single POV, Slice of Life, ft msby 4 shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-13 15:20:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28905510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/izayas/pseuds/izayas
Summary: sakusa kiyoomi is very clear about what he likes and dislikes and only miya atsumu appears on both lists.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 37
Kudos: 437





	i (dis)like you

**Author's Note:**

> as always, thank you to [loveandallthat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveandallthat) for betaing so that my foolish errors will ever only be seen by one person ♡

_Kiyoomi dislikes Atsumu._

* * *

"Omi-kun, why dontcha call me Atsumu like e'eryone else does?"

Kiyoomi straightens, looks Atsumu dead in the eyes.

"Because I don't want to."

Besides training camps, Kiyoomi's only ever exchanged words with Atsumu across black nylon string on shiny maple flooring in rubber soled shoes. They're not acquaintances and they're certainly not friends, but their reputations, both as individuals and representatives of their high schools, precede them. It's nothing besides _thanks_ or _good game,_ maybe a little quip about Kiyoomi's spike or receive that he returns with a blank stare. Kiyoomi hardly pays Atsumu any attention; once they're off court, Kiyoomi assumes they both leave those interactions among short-lived scuff marks and sweat droplets.

Their first full sentences exchange takes place after their very first Black Jackals practice and Kiyoomi thinks it's safe to say this conversation is about to set the tone for their entire relationship.

Kiyoomi's taking a break before he joins Bokuto and Hinata for a few more drills. He sees the Atsumu-shaped shadow loom while he's stretching his wrists on the ground, waits until his shoulders have rolled straight to reluctantly pull his gaze up from the floor. Atsumu hums, a low sound that lilts and lolls in volume and tone as he crosses his arms, rolls his head. He looks easygoing despite the sweat matted bangs and flush on his cheeks, water bottle held precariously in one hand. Kiyoomi's aware he doesn't look much better because he hasn't showered yet, but he has the decency to not stand within half a meter of people when he's like this.

He introduces himself as _Sakusa_ but Atsumu unilaterally christens him with _Omi-kun_ even before he's heard Bokuto's affectionate _Omi-Omi._ Hinata joins in with _Omi-san_ and it isn't even lunch when Kiyoomi feels a part of himself shrivel up and die, but knows it's too much of a hassle to fight all three of them, accepts the nicknames because at least the rest of the team politely refer to him as _Sakusa_. Kiyoomi claims his own small victory and sticks with their last names; when Atsumu corrects him to _Atsumu_ , he stares at him, staunchly repeats _Miya_.

"How d'ya feel 'bout me callin' ya Omi-kun?"

Kiyoomi narrows his eyes. He notices Atsumu's gaze fall to his wrist as he bends it forward, palm nearly brushing his forearm. He lets go and Atsumu's eyes return to his face. "I don't like it," he answers succinctly.

Atsumu nods, brow knit as if understanding. Kiyoomi knows better, though. He knows. He's known Miya Atsumu on a more personal level for less than twelve hours, but he knows.

"Right," he says and bobs his head. "Sorry 'bout that, I guess."

Atsumu smiles, lips curved too evenly and eyes crinkled too pleasantly. That lasts only a second because as Atsumu's eyes open, one corner of his mouth lowers and the lift transfers to the other, that signature, smug smirk honing its pedestal.

"Omi-Omi, then."

Kiyoomi feels another part of him die.

* * *

Their skill and hard work is what earns the four of them MSBY Black Jackals contracts, but the general public is not at all concerned with their stats. Kiyoomi realizes this with startling clarity when the social media accounts that Bokuto and Hinata set up for him start racking up followers and he makes the mistake of reading some of the comments and posts he's tagged in.

Maybe it's not just that they've all been signed so young, but that they're so young _and_ already on the starting line-up. Kiyoomi logically thinks that's what shifts the spotlight to them and it's the sports announcers and news anchors repeating their names and showing their pictures on television that has the general public flooding their social media accounts. Kiyoomi assumes this, like when news breaks that he's signed his contract, will die down.

To his chagrin, it doesn't.

They seem to just keep skyrocketing in popularity—they being him, Bokuto, Hinata, and that blasted _Miya_ —and he impassively watches as his Instagram account ticks into a four, five, six digit following. Their first official game is broadcasted and when Kiyoomi accidentally checks his Instagram account while trying to reply to a text to Komori, he sees that he's broken a million followers and he tiredly thinks that he did not sign up for this.

He literally didn't. It was Bokuto and Hinata.

Twitter isn't much better; all Kiyoomi does is retweet what Meian and Coach Foster instruct them to. On occasion he'll add his own message; Kiyoomi logically expects replies to these tweets to be along the same line, so when people scream that they love him and want him to spit on them when he quote retweets a recent interview the team was featured in, he feels disgusted and decides to stop checking his Twitter replies.

There is one aspect of social media, though, that delights him:

He's the first to get verified.

This doesn't initially faze Kiyoomi. He barely notices it; it's Hinata who informs him gleefully while they're stretching, holding his definitely germ infested phone far too close to Kiyoomi's face. "Omi-san, you got verified!"

Bokuto leaps up, like there are springs where there should be muscles. "Omi-Omi, for real?! Even I haven't gotten verified!"

Kiyoomi never tries to associate himself with the three of them but no matter where he chooses to start stretching all day, the others tag along. The same way Kiyoomi's always the first, Atsumu's the last, saunters in like he's hot shit and didn't spend an extra five minutes trying to remember his own locker combination.

"Oh. Is that so," Kiyoomi returns impassively. His dark eyes scan the proximity as he leans so far his chest nearly touches his knee, arm parallel to his outstretched leg when he sees that Atsumu's stopped stretching to check his phone. Kiyoomi's gaze decides to focus on him; he watches Atsumu's dark brow knit and then when it furrows further and he clicks his tongue, Kiyoomi instantly smirks. "Miya," he calls, almost tauntingly, almost teasingly. Atsumu's head jerks up, looks like a raccoon caught digging through trash. "What's wrong?"

"N-nothin'!" Atsumu snaps. Kiyoomi holds his gaze for a few more knowing seconds; he knows that Atsumu sees when he rears back to pick up his phone, and then Atsumu's stammering that being verified means _nothing_ , it's just a process, Kiyoomi's probably first because of some glitch and, really, it doesn't matter.

Bokuto and Hinata agree; after all, they haven't been verified either, but whenever Kiyoomi and Atsumu lock eyes the rest of the day, Kiyoomi smirks and Atsumu scowls.

What makes it worse is that Bokuto and Hinata are both verified within the next thirty six hours.

Atsumu?

Takes a whole week.

* * *

"I'm not a germaphobe," Kiyoomi explains. Atsumu's accused him of such and Kiyoomi's setting the record straight.

Atsumu squints at him. "Yer lyin'."

"I'm not lying," Kiyoomi answers. He squirts some hand sanitizer onto his palm, caps and pockets the bottle, and rubs it over his hands. They're heading towards an izakaya to meet Bokuto and Hinata for dinner before heading back to the hotel, having traveled for a sort of team bonding weekend; Kiyoomi's learned the hard way what his new teammates do when he tries to order take-out and eat by himself and it turns out that he'd rather just sit in a restaurant for about an hour to appease their insatiable desire to socialize and bond.

"I dislike germs. There's a difference."

"No there ain't," Atsumu returns with an upturned nose. Kiyoomi's almost impressively perplexed by how Atsumu's so confident without offering a single piece of supporting evidence to a baseless claim that Kiyoomi thinks is spurred by the fact that Atsumu knows the word _germaphobe._

"Yes, there is," Kiyoomi responds. "It's the difference between an extreme fear of germs and—"

He stops walking, looks Atsumu dead in the eyes.

"—a dislike of them."

* * *

Kiyoomi doesn't like Atsumu. He's not particularly fond of Bokuto or Hinata either; they're all very loud and very rambunctious and Kiyoomi is very tired. But if he has to rank them, Kiyoomi supposes it would be Hinata, Bokuto, soap dispensers that he has to physically touch, the mops used to wipe sweat off the court, the shavings from erased scuff marks, and then Atsumu.

He says this to Atsumu and Atsumu is offended.

One thing that sticks out as particularly aggravating is his _laugh_. Atsumu has a low voice, but when he laughs it's a screeching sound that burrows into Kiyoomi's ear, latches into his brain and refuses to let go. He hears it for the first time at the training camp that Kiyoomi spends lowkey stalking Kageyama Tobio who calls him _normal despite his reputation_ and wondering how Wakatoshi could have lost to his team. He's trudging back to the dorms from the bath when he hears it, a piercing guffaw that makes Kiyoomi want to recede into himself and never emerge again.

He turns the corner and sees that it's Miya Atsumu pointing at Hoshiumi, and Kiyoomi stalks off, glowering all the way until he's back in his room and under his covers. Komori asks what's wrong. Kiyoomi says he can't wait to go home and sleep in his own bed. Komori laughs and even his cousin's laugh that he's grown up with and is fine with reminds Kiyoomi too much of the monstrosity that Atsumu unleashes whenever he, apparently, feels joy.

After the training camp, Kiyoomi manages to forget about it. But now that he's seeing Atsumu almost everyday and hears that laugh on a near daily basis, that sound's nestled inside of him forever and how does Kiyoomi stop hearing something that's living rent free in his head? It doesn't matter if he's standing next to an Atsumu who's laughing at Bokuto or if he's alone in his own bed with a pillow over his head; he can't stop hearing it, that grating laughter paired with the crinkle of Atsumu's eyes and curl of his lips and Kiyoomi doesn't like it, he doesn't like this at all, he doesn't like Atsumu or his laugh or his eyes or his mouth. It's so loud and it's so hyena-like and it's the _one_ thing Kiyoomi remembers about Atsumu besides his tosses and receives from the training camp. It bounces off of walls and around corners; it's like Atsumu's laugh is genetically engineered to find Kiyoomi to irritate him

There is only one reprieve for Kiyoomi, and it's during official matches.

Because Atsumu doesn't laugh during official matches, at least not in that horrifying, nightmare-inducing way. His laughs are short chuckles; on the court, he manages to behave himself, especially now that he's an adult and not a high schooler. The first few games with Osamu in attendance have him briefly reverting to his immature self but overall, despite everything, Kiyoomi can expect Atsumu on court to perform his best.

Atsumu's still loud, but in a different way. It's the sound of his forearms receiving what the other team expects to be a service ace, the way his voice yells _left_ as the ball lifts into the air. It's _Omi-kun!_ when he sets the ball to Kiyoomi, whose arm is already pulled back and high in the air. It's the yelp when he saves the ball at the cost of tumbling over and slamming into the side panels of the gym, but is immediately on his feet and sprinting back toward the court.

Kiyoomi scores the winning point of their first official game. The crowd erupts in cheers and it's just about the only time Kiyoomi's not squirming away from his teammates coming to clap him on the back (though, unlike with Hinata, no one tries to ruffle his hair). A voice cuts through the onslaught of physical congratulations Kiyoomi is not fond of and it's one of the rare times that Kiyoomi is relieved for Atsumu making sounds.

"Hey hey, I set 'im that ball! It's 'cause of my toss too, innit?!"

"Aw, Tsum-Tsum, we're proud of you too!"

"Yeah, Atsumu-san! You did great, that set was amazing!"

Atsumu's pout turns into a grin when he's getting the praise he demanded, and then when his eyes lock with Kiyoomi, he laughs.

He laughs, and it's not grating. It's not piercing, it's not shrill, it's not burrowing into Kiyoomi's ear; it's blooming in his chest and just that sound alone overpowers the squeaking of shoes and rhythmic chanting. Atsumu laughs in a way that crinkles his eyes and brings one ear closer to his shoulder and when he holds up a fist, Kiyoomi doesn't think twice to bump his to it.

Atsumu's laughs stop irritating him after that.

* * *

Kiyoomi's pulled into their antics and even within the team, they've been dubbed a quartet of sorts. Kiyoomi initially assumes it's because of how close they are in age, but then he overhears Meian and Inunaki discussing that it's nice the newcomers are so close with each other because of their compatible personalities, how it's helping with team bonding. Kiyoomi calmly informs Meian that this is not the case, but his point is weakened when Hinata bounces up to tell him their commemorative three-month photoshoot is in an hour.

Kiyoomi doesn't really think of them as his friends, even if he sees them almost every day, always rooms with one of them in hotels, and no matter where he sits on the bus, the other three will pile around him. He doesn't think of them as friends, even though a majority of the rare texts he sends are to one of them or to their group chats. He doesn't think of them as friends, even though he's volunteered, on more than one occasion, to drive them home after a night out celebrating a victory because he doesn't want to risk any of them falling asleep on the subway and getting sick.

The three of them are so loud and while Kiyoomi responds if they address him, he spends most of his time observing them quietly.

There's Hinata Shoyo, who seems to have held up on promising that he's learned how to take care of himself. He's yet to collapse on court again because of a fever and Kiyoomi's impressed to see him pull out hand warmers and offer him one when the four are out on a run (Kiyoomi assures him he has his own.) He's short, but that's never stopped him; Kiyoomi sees a fire in his eyes that almost makes him smile.

There's Bokuto Kotaro, who Kiyoomi's heard swear vengeance on him ever since high school when Itachiyama continuously beat Fukurodani. Bokuto's declared Kiyoomi to be his rival; one of the first things Kiyoomi asks him is if he still considers him a rival now or a teammate and Bokuto grins at him, puffs up his chest, declares, _"Both, of course, Omi-Omi! Just because we're on the same side of the net doesn't mean I'm not gonna stop trying to best you!"_ and Kiyoomi does not mind that answer.

And then there's Miya Atsumu.

The thing is that Atsumu isn't the one who asks for his phone number to add him to the group chat; that's Hinata. Atsumu isn't the one who calls Kiyoomi over before he even needs to really look around the room for them; that's Bokuto. Atsumu isn't the one who forces him to go to the first team dinner, at least, to bond with everyone; that's Hinata, Bokuto, _and_ Meian.

Atsumu is, though, the one who silently tosses him extra hand sanitizer that he "jus' found 'nd bought so Omi-kun doesn't get all sourpussed if he accident'ly runs out later." Atsumu is the one who stares at Kiyoomi quietly and when Kiyoomi looks at him, he'll wrinkle his nose and look away, but then make up a reason to excuse them both from a crowded situation so that he can whisper something mean that Kiyoomi can't help but nod at. Atsumu's the one who will sit next to Kiyoomi on a bus so someone else won't and understands to keep at least a ten centimeter distance between them at all times.

Most of all, though, Atsumu's the one who makes Kiyoomi's stomach drop with a single smirk.

* * *

Kiyoomi's first unfortunate experience of his first Black Jackals away game is having to share a hotel room with Atsumu.

Kiyoomi's second unfortunate experience of his first Black Jackals away game is slinging Atsumu's arm over his shoulder and guiding his drunk ass back to their aforementioned shared hotel room. He should have known, he thinks. He should have known because when he tells Atsumu that if he's drunk and slumped over a bar after 11 p.m., Kiyoomi will not leave hotel premises to retrieve him. He should have known because all that blasted _Miya_ does is smirk.

It is past 11 p.m. and Atsumu is drunk and slumped over the _hotel_ bar, which is _on_ hotel premises, and Kiyoomi wants to commit a felony.

"Omi-kun," Atsumu whines and Kiyoomi visibly winces at the way he nuzzles his face against his neck, a fantastic mixture of whiskey sours and peanuts lingering in Kiyoomi's air. Atsumu's face is warm and Kiyoomi prays whatever _wet substance_ he feels is leftover alcohol and not snot or drool.

The urge to commit a felony grows stronger.

Kiyoomi doesn't grace him with an answer. He doesn't deserve one. Miya Atsumu does not deserve the sound of Kiyoomi's voice, the result of vibrations from air passing through vocal cords. Atsumu deserves only one thing, Kiyoomi thinks, and that is to slide down the trash chute into a dumpster full of week old seafood.

He presses the button for the elevator and at least one deity in the sky respects him because the elevator is already waiting for them, doors opening with a pleasant chime. He drags them inside, doesn't care that Atsumu's shoulder bumps against a closing door.

"Omi-kun," Atsumu drawls again and Kiyoomi feels a smirk spread along his collarbone, nose bumping affectionately at his neck. Kiyoomi's good at cleaning. He's really good. Good enough to get away with a felony, probably. "...I think yer pretty."

Kiyoomi's in the middle of a laundry list of cleaning supplies when Atsumu says that and he blinks, sees just how impassive his expression is in the pristinely polished doors. He blinks again, this time eyes moving from his face to the mop of blond hair that contrasts so sharply against his dark curls, to how Atsumu's practically draped over Kiyoomi's shoulder like a cape. He blinks a third time and exhales through his nose.

Kiyoomi looks up. The light flicks from 8 to 9.

"Miya," he says evenly.

The light flicks from 9 to 10. A beep sounds.

"I suppose you're passable."

Kiyoomi swears he sees Atsumu's lips curve into a smirk right before the doors open.

* * *

So, there's still plenty to dislike about Atsumu besides his laugh, which, apparently, is fine now.

Atsumu washes his hands but doesn't scrub between his fingers and under his nails for twenty seconds. To top it off, he then waves them in the air as he chortles his way out the bathroom with Hinata and Kiyoomi feels like he just witnessed a murder of some sort.

Kiyoomi has _seen_ Atsumu drop an entire, unwrapped onigiri on the floor, stare at it, pick it up, tentatively blow on it, and make eye contact with Kiyoomi just as his teeth sink into the formed rice. Atsumu just blinks while Kiyoomi thinks that he's never going to recover from this.

Kiyoomi's talked into a weekend trip to Okayama because he has a car and unfortunately Komori will not be a good family member and lie about plans to get him out of it. Since Atsumu's the one who grew up in the area, Kiyoomi trusts him to have an itinerary and directions ready, because this trip's decided two days before leaving and Kiyoomi has other matters to attend to. Atsumu reassures them in the group chat that he's got it, don't worry.

So early on Saturday morning, Kiyoomi picks them up, Atsumu being the last, and as soon as he's in the car, he announces he has no itinerary, they're going to have to wing it and, oh, his phone's about to die so hopefully Omi-Omi's got a phone charger, otherwise someone else is going to have to direct them.

Kiyoomi contemplates something that goes against the heavily implied and naturally assumed but not actually explicitly stated _do not murder a teammate_ clause in his contract.

Atsumu gets too close when he walks, never apologizes when his wild hand gestures hit Kiyoomi, and has an annoying habit of trying to peer over Kiyoomi's shoulder. He uses his social media far too often, keeps tagging Kiyoomi in things that he doesn't care about, privately messages him because he's not paying attention to what Coach Foster has told them to do or post on their accounts, occasionally unleashes a total social media shit storm by accident and because Kiyoomi's usually tagged, his own notifications blow up as a result.

There's one time he posts a selfie from the gym and tags the three because they're working out together even though they're not in the shot. It's just Atsumu sitting on a bench, phone obscuring half his face but showing one eye and his lopsided smirk, towel around his neck and arms exposed in his tank top.

Bokuto comments _arm day, amirite?_

Hinata comments _remember to wipe down your station afterwards!_

(Kiyoomi likes Hinata's comment.)

Kiyoomi comments _why did you tag me in this. I'm not even in the picture._

Kiyoomi's is the only comment that Atsumu responds to with _aw omi-kun, if you wanted a pic with me you could've just said so!_

Kiyoomi doesn't appreciate how many likes that comment gets. He doesn't appreciate that Bokuto _and_ Hinata also like it. He scowls and closes out of Instagram for the day, but turns out that attention-seeking Atsumu's just posted that selfie on Twitter as well and someone took a screenshot of their comments, added it as a reply, and tagged Kiyoomi in it.

There is so much to dislike about Miya Atsumu.

* * *

_Kiyoomi isn't sure if he likes or dislikes Atsumu._

* * *

Kiyoomi explains all of his grievances to Komori one night during their weekly cousin FaceTime, a tradition instituted by Komori that Kiyoomi begrudgingly accepts. It's almost ten by now and while Kiyoomi's browsing through the first of seven tabs of serums, Komori's eating a late dinner. Kiyoomi's not impressed with this eating schedule, but, he supposes, it's better than skipping the meal entirely, considering he's only in Osaka because of a game the next day.

He's just finished a monotonous speech regarding the horrors of Atsumu when he hears Komori's laugh. Frowning but not entirely disturbed by the reaction, Kiyoomi enlarges an image to read the ingredients on the label. His phone's angled for a practical view of him on a stand specifically designed so that none of the grooves block the speakers, which is how Kiyoomi can hear Komori setting down his bowl with startling clarity. This one's no good, he thinks, there's fragrance in it. He closes the tab and moves to the next one, scrolls down to the ingredients list.

"Huh, who would've thought."

Kiyoomi doesn't think he likes that response. He turns to face his phone to look at Komori, brow knitting.

Komori gives a good-natured grin. "Sounds like you've got a crush on him."

Kiyoomi blinks. He pauses right after he's read _dicaprylyl carbonate_ , asks Komori to come over, and promptly hangs up. He ignores all ensuing texts and calls and when a knock comes at his door half an hour later, Kiyoomi calmly approaches and answers.

"What is it?" Komori gasps, one hand supporting himself against the doorframe and the other on his thigh. Kiyoomi watches impassively as his entire body moves with the effort to catch his breath. "You scared me! What did you call me over here so suddenly for?!"

"To do this," Kiyoomi says and slams the door shut in his face.

* * *

Komori's mom gently chides Kiyoomi into buying him an apology lunch.

* * *

The Black Jackals win another home match and Kiyoomi, long ago reluctantly admitting to himself that he considers these three buffoons to be his friends, volunteers to be their designated driver. Expectedly, they get absolutely fucking hammered and it's a good thing Kiyoomi is a professional athlete because otherwise, there would be no way to get three other professional athletes into his car.

Bokuto and Hinata are easy to take care of. Both Akaashi and Kageyama are in town to watch the match (the Adlers lost earlier in the season, which Hinata likes to remind Kageyama of constantly) and Kiyoomi has both of their contact information stored in his phone; one of Bokuto's few non-volleyball-related ideas is that they should all have each other's emergency contact information and Kiyoomi makes up a number because the last thing he needs is for Komori to be their friend.

He shoots off text messages to Akaashi and Kageyama before embarking on a drive he's made several times by now. Bokuto's first; Akaashi's waiting patiently by the time Kiyoomi pulls up. He thanks him and gently helps Bokuto up the stairs into his apartment complex, rubbing his back soothingly.

Hinata's next; Kageyama arrives downstairs and after thanking Kiyoomi, he calls Hinata an idiot twice (" _boke Hinata, boke!"_ ) and nearly drags him up the stairs into his apartment complex by the collar of his shirt.

By the time Kiyoomi reaches Atsumu's apartment, he's dead asleep, doesn't even wake up when Kiyoomi starts flicking water at him (first few times to wake him up, next several out of sheer annoyance). He calls Osamu, asks if he has a spare key for Atsumu's apartment because Kiyoomi's snapped on some latex gloves and excavated Atsumu's pockets to find absolutely nothing besides gum wrappers, his phone, and, surprisingly, hand sanitizer.

_"Naw, sorry. Tsumu doesn't even hav'a key right now. Said he lost it on the way to th'bar."_

_Kiyoomi remains optimistic. "Would it be possible to dump his body at your apartment?"_

_"Sorry," Osamu says and does not sound very sorry. "'m not in town tonight."_

Osamu knows the code to enter his building, but Kiyoomi feels like it's considered negligence to leave Atsumu's body slumped in front of his apartment, knowing that even when he wakes up, he won't be able to get into his apartment. Kiyoomi sits in his car for several more minutes, comes to terms with the one idea he's hoped to never resort to, but Miya Atsumu continues to push him to his limits, even when drunk, unconscious, and on the verge of drooling.

Kiyoomi sighs, wonders how his life has led him to this particular moment, and starts the drive home.

And that's the story of how Miya Atsumu spends a night at Sakusa Kiyoomi's apartment and foots the cleaning bill for the little driblet of drool on his couch.

* * *

Kiyoomi stares at himself in the dimly lit bathroom of the bar where the Black Jackals are celebrating a win and once again, wonders why his life has turned out this way.

Pushing up his sleeve to see his watch confirm it's officially past 1 a.m., Kiyoomi returns to the bar to find Atsumu slouched over on the table. Even from a distance, Kiyoomi sees dried evidence of spilled drinks disappearing beneath Atsumu's form and his nose wrinkles. Meian smiles when he sees him return. "Sorry, Sakusa, tried to keep him sitting up as long as I could. I can help you get him back to the hotel."

"It's all right," Kiyoomi declines, as this is something he is unfortunately used to doing. "We'll see you in the lobby tomorrow morning for the shuttle to the airport."

Meian nods. He bids him another farewell as he stands and shuffles out of the bar, leaving Kiyoomi to take a seat next to Atsumu. "Miya," he says in a low voice, "get up. You're not sleeping here."

"Om _iii_ …" Atsumu whines and Kiyoomi considers dumping a pitcher of water over his head, if only the splatter wouldn't land on him as well.

It used to change in the beginning but now, more than nine months into their professional volleyball careers, the hotel roommate arrangements are fairly stagnant. Bokuto and Hinata are always together, which leaves Kiyoomi and Atsumu. It actually works, he thinks, because Atsumu has the capability of shutting up every once in a while, whereas Bokuto and Hinata do not. However, Atsumu is just as (or even more) into drinking than the other two are. Kiyoomi has certainly thought through retiring early and having several hours of peace and quiet to himself in the hotel room, but then he realizes the chances of being woken up in the middle of a sleep cycle by a very drunk Atsumu are almost inconceivable. As a result, he's told Atsumu that he _will_ go out with them (Atsumu grins) but the two of them have a strict 1 a.m. curfew (Atsumu frowns.)

Atsumu tries to argue with him but Kiyoomi threatens to leave him locked outside of their room the entire night, and he quietly agrees because he knows Kiyoomi doesn't deliver empty threats.

"Miya," Kiyoomi warns again and Atsumu whines but pushes himself up. He's in no condition to walk, Kiyoomi's unsurprised and displeased to note, so he fishes out a travel sized package of hand wipes from his pocket. Atsumu's eyes are closed and he's swaying, so he doesn't initially notice when Kiyoomi takes out a sheet. But when he wipes Atsumu's hand with it, Kiyoomi can confirm he's not so drunk as to be numb because Atsumu laughs, slurs _yer ticklin' me_ and Kiyoomi doesn't respond. Once he feels comfortable touching Atsumu's hand, Kiyoomi takes it to hold his arm straight and passes the wipe over the length of his sleeve because the last thing Kiyoomi wants is dried beer and tequila transferring from Atsumu's jacket onto the back of Kiyoomi's.

"We're going," Kiyoomi says. He uses the last of the wipe to clean as much of the table as he can before leaving it neatly in an empty basket that once housed fries. Slinging Atsumu's arm over his shoulders, Kiyoomi stands, almost stumbles because as strong as he is, Miya Atsumu plays volleyball for a living and his body reflects that.

He manages to navigate them outside, Atsumu's feet stumbling over each other, but at least he's walking. Wiping Atsumu's sleeve has become a reflexive habit; Kiyoomi ends up having to drape his arm around Atsumu's waist and hold him close and even if there's no sticky mess there, who knows what Atsumu rolls around in his jacket.

"Omi-Omi, why dontcha call me 'Tsumu like e'erone else…?" Atsumu slurs and Kiyoomi blinks.

"Why does it matter?" he asks monotonously. "It's not as if there's any other Miya to cause confusion."

"'Cause…" Atsumu hiccups, "I wanna know that yer thinkin' of _me_ 'nd only me…"

His honesty has Kiyoomi skidding to a stop and Atsumu's steps loll forwards and backwards. It takes him a few oscillations to halt as Kiyoomi's brow knits. "What?" he asks and looks at the man leaning against him, temple to his shoulder.

Atsumu's shrug is so exaggerated that Kiyoomi nearly loses his balance. "When ya say Miya… ya might be thinkin' a'Samu, ya know?"

"…You think when I say _Miya_ for a toss, I'm thinking of your brother and his onigiri?"

"Om _iii_ …!" Atsumu whines again and he stomps his foot. Kiyoomi's brow furrows further but after a pause, he grumbles _let's go_ and they're moving again. It's a feat and a half in itself to get them back and after Kiyoomi dumps Atsumu onto his bed, he takes a quick shower and slips underneath his own covers, grateful that drunk Atsumu actually _doesn't_ snore.

He doesn't know how much Atsumu remembers the next morning, but when his alarm goes up, Kiyoomi sees Atsumu sit up with a start. He groans and holds his head while Kiyoomi's focused on the spit dribbling down his chin and the mark on his bed; he visibly grimaces and Atsumu glares at him. "Can it, Omi-kun… _fuck_ , m'head, holy _shit_ …"

Kiyoomi quietly reaches to the nightstand on his left. He tosses a bottle of aspirin to Atsumu first and then the water. Even when hungover, Atsumu catches both without even glancing and he takes two before burrowing his face into the sheets. " _Shit_ 'm never gonna drink again…"

Kiyoomi's heard this one before.

"We have an hour before we're to meet downstairs," he says and Atsumu blearily gives a thumbs up. "So take a shower and pack your things."

He pauses.

"…Atsumu."

Atsumu freezes in that odd pose, with his head shoved into the mess of sheets and comforters when he's still on his knees. He then shoots upwards and Kiyoomi just looks at him with a slight glare. "…What. You wanted me to call you that, didn't you?"

Atsumu just gawks at him and when Kiyoomi snaps at him to shower, his face erupts red and he nearly falls off his bed in an attempt to grab clean clothes and scurry off to the bathroom. When Kiyoomi hears the door close, he exhales slowly and forcefully, pinches the bridge of his nose and feels a blush he'd just barely managed to repress ebb onto his cheeks.

"…Idiot."

* * *

There are things that Kiyoomi likes. He's very direct and blunt about what he doesn't like, but he's also very direct and blunt about what he does like.

He likes umeboshi, to begin with. He mentions this offhandedly to Hinata one day when he's asking about his lunch and the next time Osamu visits, he's got specially prepared umeboshi onigiri for him. Kiyoomi asks Hinata if he told him; he earnestly and honestly answers no and when Kiyoomi catches Atsumu's eye, he flushes and stalks away, shoves an onigiri that he didn't drop onto the ground into his mouth.

He likes cotton linen masks, especially for winter. They hold up well and are cool and smooth to the touch; other masks are either too hard to breathe through or feel like they don't really offer any sort of protection. He tells Atsumu that the foam masks he buys are more or less useless; Atsumu snaps that he's not even going to _wear_ them, so Kiyoomi asks why he's wasting his money, and he flushes and stalks away, almost accidentally walks out of the store with unpaid masks he wasn't even planning to use.

And, of course, he likes volleyball. He wouldn't be playing at this level if he didn't like it, even if people question his passion because he doesn't contort his face the way the other three do. He likes the analysis, the preparation, the execution. He likes seeing the results of his hard work, he likes the experiences he's had, he likes the satisfaction of knowing he's done all that he can.

He likes jumping, pulling his arm back and knowing that Atsumu will get the ball in front of him.

Most of all, he likes that he always does.

* * *

Kiyoomi is angry with whichever past reincarnations of his offended the universe.

He's looking forward to a quiet holiday season. It's the night before Christmas and Kiyoomi's chosen a late hour to pick up some last minute items he remembers he needs. Hinata and Bokuto have returned to Tokyo; when they ask if he wants to come with them, he declines and doesn't offer any more explanation. Hinata asks why he doesn't want to return home for the holidays and Kiyoomi replies that he lives in Osaka.

The last item on his list is rice cakes. Kiyoomi sees just one remaining, plastic package colorful and shiny beneath grocery store lighting. A basket that he's disinfected with his own wipes hangs off the crook of his elbow, bumps against his hip as he walks towards the refrigerated shelves and when he reaches a hand out to grasp it by its upper left corner, another hand shoots out to grab it by its right side.

Kiyoomi looks up and sees Atsumu.

Atsumu's eyes light up. "Omi-kun!"

Kiyoomi's eyes darken. "…Atsumu."

Kiyoomi grew up in the quiet, tucked away hills of Aoyama, a three story, contemporary house of stone and glass that has a maximum of two Sakusas in it at any given time. When Kiyoomi's feet were still struggling to reach the floor from a dining room table, his parents' overseas business trips had stretched into permanent residences and both of his siblings had moved out of the house and on with their lives. Most of Kiyoomi's memories with his parents take place over Skype calls, starting from when he sat propped on someone's knee to when he's old enough to occupy his own chair.

Kiyoomi grew up in the presence of nannies and absence of blood relatives, save Komori and his mother, but he didn't mind. He thinks this is why he's never had such a fond attachment to the concept of _home_ ; he doesn't have a tight-knit, nuclear family to go back to, but that's fine with him. He's not close with his family, Komori being an exception, and Kiyoomi has always preferred to be by himself.

Kiyoomi snatches the rice cakes and stalks off, which he realizes is a mistake because now Atsumu's just going to follow him around. "Omi-kun!" signals the start of the incoming whines. "I need those…! Ma gave me 'nd 'Samu a list of stuff ta bring home 'nd that's th'last thing!"

"Then go to another store," Kiyoomi says flatly. "You're still grocery shopping the night before Christmas? What's wrong with you?"

"Omi-kun, yer literally doin' the same thing!" Atsumu defends and Kiyoomi glares at him, adjusts his mask as he veers down an aisle, remembers he needs more furikake. "C'mon, please? Samu 'nd I gotta catch an early train tomorrow, so jus' cut me some slack, yeah?"

"No," Kiyoomi answers resolutely. He takes the furikake and remembers that if he's here, he may as well buy some more cleaning supplies. He heads to that aisle and hears Atsumu's footsteps patter behind him.

"Why arentcha in Tokyo? Ya grew up there, didntcha?"

"Why would I travel that far to return to an empty house?" Kiyoomi asks in a bored voice. "I may as well stay here in my apartment."

Atsumu's surprisingly quiet and Kiyoomi dares to hope that he's gotten distracted by something shiny and disappeared. But after he picks up his favorite all purpose cleaner, he looks up to see Atsumu just look at him. It's not pity; Kiyoomi would definitely know if it were, but he can't really place what feeling has manifested in Atsumu's features. "Dontcha have siblings? Where're yer parents?"

"Europe," Kiyoomi answers impatiently. "My sister is in Canada, my brother is in Fukuoka. The house in Tokyo is empty. Now, if you're—"

"Yer gonna spend the holidays alone?" Atsumu asks and Kiyoomi frowns, wonders why he cares. He supposes he hasn't thought about how Atsumu would feel about holidays; he knows that he's close with his family (at least, with Osamu) and given his personality, Kiyoomi can see Atsumu being the type to be exuberant about this time of year. In Kiyoomi's defense, he wants to say, Komori did offer, but he turned him down.

However, it begs the question why he feels a need to explain himself.

Atsumu shakes his head. "Naw. Nuh-uh. Yer comin' with me, Omi-Omi. This way we don't even hav'ta fight over the rice cakes. Yer gonna pay, though."

"What?" Kiyoomi asks, brow knitting. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm not crashing your—"

"It's not crashin', Omi-kun, I'm invitin' ya! Besides, I'm sure Ma would love t'meet ya. She already points ya out whenever our games replay on TV," Atsumu says and when he takes Kiyoomi's wrist, he wonders why his body doesn't bristle at the touch. "Train's tomorrow at six. Samu's a bitch in the mornin' but so are you."

"Atsumu, I'm not going home with you."

"Yeah, you are, Omi-kun."

"No, I'm not."

"Yeah, you are."

"No, I'm not."

"Yeah, you are."

This goes on for ten minutes and Kiyoomi still isn't sure how it happens, but he ends up at the Miyas' for Christmas that year.

* * *

So it's not just that Kiyoomi doesn't like Atsumu, it's that Kiyoomi _really doesn't like Atsumu._ Sure, he's an amazing setter who Kiyoomi finds himself expecting to toss the ball to exactly where he needs no matter what point it is in the game, and, all right, he's got those golden, hooded eyes that always have a smirk of their own, a tongue that won't stay in his mouth (when Kiyoomi is really drunk, like _really_ drunk, he thinks about what it can do), and tan skin that _really_ drunk Kiyoomi also might imagine running his own tongue over. And yeah, he supposes that Atsumu has that _devil gives a fuck_ attitude because he's a fuckboy but it's kind of hot in a way but, see, the point is that Kiyoomi doesn't like Atsumu because despite all that, Atsumu opens doors with his bare hand and then uses that same hand to eat, wears mismatched socks, rarely thinks through even a half-assed plan before an exuberant attempt at execution, gets sick from not sleeping enough because he gets so obsessed with studying old games, _spits out umeboshi right in front of Kiyoomi_ , dries his hands on his pants when he's in a rush, has zero impulse or volume control, talks with his mouth open _which once sent a single grain of rice flying straight at Kiyoomi's face_ , and is a hurricane in a human form.

Kiyoomi inhales sharply, sits up with a jerk, face pale like he's woken up from a nightmare. He looks to his left, sees three empty bottles of sake and winces.

_I am never drinking again._

* * *

"Omi-kun, ya do that a lot."

"Do what?"

Atsumu nods towards his wrist and Kiyoomi realizes he's rolling it out of habit. He stops and purses his lips. "I don't do it a lot."

"Ya do," Atsumu answers, sounds bored and his eyes don't even shift from his phone. "Even in high school, 'specially when yer 'boutta serve."

Atsumu pulls on his headphones and falls asleep the rest of the bus ride home and Kiyoomi wonders what else he remembers about him.

* * *

They kiss.

It's Kiyoomi's second January in Osaka and rare, light snowfall has delicately coated the buildings, the roads, the railings, the trees. They live in somewhat the same direction so they've split off from Bokuto and Hinata; Kiyoomi watches as it begins to snow and Atsumu hurries ahead, tilts his head back and tries to catch snowflakes on his teeth.

Kiyoomi scoffs. "You're an Olympic scouted athlete, Atsumu, don't act like a child."

Atsumu lifts his head and turns to Kiyoomi with a wicked smirk. "Yer an Olympic scouted athlete, Omi-Omi, don't act lik'a grumpy ol' man!"

Kiyoomi rolls his eyes. He's kept his hands in his pockets, having forgotten his gloves for once, but brings one out to adjust his mask. Atsumu goes back to catching snowflakes with his tongue, arms outstretched and eyes closed as he tips his head back. As Kiyoomi moves to repocket his hand to brace it from the chill, he catches sight of some black ice that's peering through snow and right in line with where Atsumu's about to step next.

His hand never quite returns to where it started because by now, Kiyoomi knows Atsumu very well. Kiyoomi, arguably, knows Atsumu too well. He knows that if Atsumu's sleeping on his left cheek he's got an 87% chance of drooling and that drops to a still nauseating 43% if he's sleeping on his right one. He knows that if Atsumu is staring with his head tilted to the left he's staring in amazement and if his head's tilted to the right, he's about to say something that makes Kiyoomi want to ascend to the stars. He knows that Atsumu is surprisingly clean with his personal space, per a recent visit, though Bokuto mentions that he's started cleaning a lot more, what's caused that change? Atsumu makes brief eye contact with Kiyoomi, flushes and stalks away.

He knows Atsumu flushes and stalks away a lot around him.

He knows that if Atsumu comes off as blunt and cocky and competitive as hell, it's because he's got so much sincerity in his heart it's threatening to burst at his seams. He knows that Atsumu is so selfless when it comes to volleyball because of how much he loves the sport and how much he expects from his team. He knows that Atsumu's having the time of his life now with his monster hitters and he knows that he'll do everything he can to make sure Atsumu continues to feel that way.

Most of all, Kiyoomi knows that Atsumu is a clumsy fucking idiot.

Kiyoomi catches Atsumu with his left arm and as strong as he is, Miya Atsumu is composed of lean muscle more than anything and even Kiyoomi winces at the impact of his body against an arm that reflexively curls around his back, brings Atsumu close to him. And the way Kiyoomi's arm extends without his brain commanding it, his other hand's come up to pull his mask down before his mind discerns why. Atsumu's hands lightly rest on Kiyoomi's chest but he's not pushing away, even though their noses brush and their lips are less than a breath's width apart, even though they're so close all Kiyoomi can focus on are Atsumu's gold speckled eyes.

Kiyoomi forgets how to think for a moment. His brain feels like it's just seized right up there in the skull prison it resides in and when he can think, when his mind decides to work, his first thought is:

_Is Atsumu wearing cologne?_

The his second thought is:

_It smells nice._

Kiyoomi briefly entertains using Atsumu's hard head as a surface to slam his own into for those highly intellectual thoughts.

There's no way that Kiyoomi should be able to feel the warmth of Atsumu's body because not only is Atsumu wearing whatever he's wearing, Kiyoomi's wearing a cashmere sweater and wool coat. Those layers along with Atsumu's should be more than enough to bar warmth from traveling from Atsumu's back to Kiyoomi's forearm, but he swears he feels some sort of radiating heat and wonders if Atsumu feels the same thing against his palms. Just as he's thinking this, Atsumu lifts a single hand, leaves the other where it is.

Kiyoomi thinks that Atsumu's going to push him away. He thinks that, he really does, and yet he doesn't make any movement to step back.

He's glad he doesn't because that's when it happens:

Atsumu kisses him.

Atsumu kisses Kiyoomi beneath strung up holiday lights yet to be taken down and wreath decorated lamp posts, on the side of an eerily empty street filled with slush and black ice that pirouetting snowflakes can't quite seem to cover. He kisses him suddenly as the raised hand tangles in his hair with no warning and, just like how he kisses him, he jerks back, like he's been burned.

"Shit, sorry—"

Atsumu's lips are doing something that Kiyoomi very much does not want, which is breaking away from his. And so while Atsumu's trying to apologize, Kiyoomi chases his mouth and that's when it happens:

Kiyoomi kisses him.

Kiyoomi kisses Atsumu next to an izakaya that Bokuto has earned them a lifetime ban from, shame and embarrassment still so strong they only walk past on Mondays, when it's closed. He kisses him confidently like he's never kissed anyone else before because Kiyoomi's never felt this way about anyone and it drives him absolutely mad because Atsumu is annoying and obnoxious and arrogant and rambunctious and headache inducing and an overall, grade-A bratty bastard.

But he's also all Kiyoomi can think about when he's not on the court and Kiyoomi's embarrassed to admit that he thinks the only reason he can stop thinking about Atsumu when on court is because Atsumu is right there with him.

Kiyoomi kisses Atsumu right after Atsumu kisses Kiyoomi, allows neither of them a chance to process what's happening. He kisses him and Atsumu's body pressed flush against his own doesn't make him bristle, Atsumu's tongue in his mouth doesn't make him wince, Atsumu's fingers carding through his hair doesn't make him wrinkle his nose in disgust. Kiyoomi's not thinking about when Atsumu ate an onigiri that had fallen onto the ground or if Atsumu's washed this jacket after sloshing beer onto it during another celebratory night out. Kiyoomi isn't thinking about anything except how kissing Atsumu leaves him so warm that even the tips of his fingers don't feel the cold of winter.

He kisses Atsumu until his lips are numb and his lungs are quivering and then he kisses him more. Kiyoomi kisses Atsumu in a way that, until now, he hasn't realized how desperately he's wanted to, how Atsumu's the reason he's long ago waived the ten centimeter distance rule, how Atsumu's the only one he allows to ruffle his hair, how Atsumu's the single person whose touch doesn't make his body tense (unless his hand is mysteriously sticky because that's just gross.)

He kisses Atsumu fiercely, until he really can't feel his lips but they're still moving, so why not? And Atsumu keeps kissing back and they're always competing with each other over every little thing, so of course kissing's just added to the list. Atsumu's pushed him against the wall of the izakaya and Kiyoomi feels like this would be another offense to extend their lifetime ban, but he doesn't care. He just angles his head to keep kissing Atsumu until their legs threaten to collapse from oxygen deprivation and they break apart, but they're still so close that it's as if they're exchanging each other's breaths. It's hard for Kiyoomi's head to clear; there's a ringing that he hangs onto because as soon as his mind clears, he knows he's going to have to live with the fact that Atsumu knows Kiyoomi kissed him multiple times and liked it and that's a smugness nobody should have to deal with.

He hears _Omi-kun_ and immediately groans because Kiyoomi knows Atsumu very well and knows that whenever Atsumu speaks, there's a 98% chance that Kiyoomi does not want to hear it.

"Please don't say anything to ruin this."

"Omi-kun…" Atsumu repeats, laughs breathily. It's hot against Kiyoomi's lips and he hates that he just wants to kiss him again. "Ya kissed me 'nd I didn't even hav'ta brush my teeth or anythin'… ya really like me, dontcha?"

 _He's ruined it_ , Kiyoomi thinks but instead of pulling away, his lips seek out Atsumu's again and feels the last of his laugh wisp into memory as he kisses him again, and again, and again until snow's decorated their hair and filled their footprints up to when they stopped walking.

* * *

Kiyoomi likes a lot of things, as he'll say when Komori grumbles he hates everything.

He likes cleaning supplies, for one. Obviously. Kiyoomi likes perusing the Internet and wandering the cleaning aisle in grocery stores to compare sponges and mops and pick up spare gloves because with friends like the ones he has, gloves are always handy to have. He likes keeping up-to-date with blogs and what's new in the cleaning world, what's the latest bleach, what's safer than ammonia.

He likes that feeling right after he's done a daily wipe down of every hard surface in his apartment, the scent of citrus filling the space as he turns out his air purifier to clean what he, unfortunately, cannot. He likes the hum and ding of his laundry and washer, even likes cleaning out the lint tray to see everything that's _not_ in his sheets and clothes anymore.

He likes knowing he's done everything he can and won and even when he hasn't, knows that he's done everything he can and sometimes things don't work out. What he doesn't like is his buffoonish friends still being upset over a loss, despite knowing they all prepared as adequately as they could have and when Kiyoomi's words fail, alcohol never does, so he buys them rounds until they're happy again and Kiyoomi hopes they don't projectile vomit in his car because then they cannot be friends anymore.

He likes when fans show up to support him; he's not an asshole, as many people (even his own teammates) say. He doesn't quite like receiving their gifts and despite not yet having figured out how to respectfully decline them, he still signs autographs and thanks them for their support.

So, Kiyoomi likes a lot of things and Komori is wrong; he isn't a negative asshole who dislikes everything. There are plenty of things he likes.

There is only one thing, though, he loves.

* * *

When Kiyoomi graduates high school to become a collegiate volleyball player, his home turns into a quiet one bedroom apartment in Roppongi Hills, natural light controlled with motorized blinds and quiet hardwood so clean that Komori's slipped numerous times when visiting.

When he graduates college, his home moves with him to Osaka to join the Black Jackals, a spacious penthouse in Shinpoincho with sweeping views of Osaka Bay and twinkling lights spotting a horizon that Kiyoomi thinks would be nice to watch with one specific teammate of his.

When he returns to Tokyo next year for the national team, his home will become a penthouse in Minami-Aoyama that he and Atsumu sign a lease for together, hidden needlessly deep into quiet fortitude because even if Atsumu laughs in the middle of Shibuya Crossing, Kiyoomi tunes everything out to focus on that wonderful, chiming, lovely sound that means he's happy.

That's his home, but his _home_ is a permanent residence nestled between Atsumu's ribs, just beneath the lungs where laughter bubbles from and behind a heart that Kiyoomi falls asleep listening to. Kiyoomi's lucky that when he travels from city to city to play, his _home_ is always there, either cuddled up right against him or quietly snoring on the other bed in their hotel room because Atsumu fell asleep prior to showering.

And even when this happens, when Kiyoomi's sitting alone in his own bed staring at the mess of a man he's embarrassingly in love with, watching spit verge on teetering out of his mouth and onto the sheets, Kiyoomi can't help but feel love swell in his chest because he finally understands what it's like to have a _home_ to return to.

He smiles, even when Atsumu hiccups.

It's nice.

* * *

Atsumu laughs so hard one day when on the phone with Osamu that he sprays a mouthful of soda and spit onto the dashboard and the fact that Kiyoomi doesn't pull over, dump him, and kick him out of the car is a testament to just how much he's fallen in love with this bastard.

* * *

Atsumu finds out how expensive car detailing service is.

* * *

_Kiyoomi doesn't like or dislike Atsumu._

_He loves him._

**Author's Note:**

> every time i fall head over heels, straight to rock bottom for a ship, i start off with a present tense, introspective one-shot. so here we are, the sakuatsu version :)
> 
> thank you for reading!! kudos/comments incredibly appreciated ♡
> 
> (a barely used) [twitter](https://twitter.com/umebomi)


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